


Dance Before the Downfall

by rigelianprince



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-19 12:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rigelianprince/pseuds/rigelianprince
Summary: In Avistym 399 V.C., at a Grand Ball held in Rigel Castle, Emperor Rudolf announced the end of the ongoing war with Zofia. But it was not this news that would change the young Rinea's destiny, rather it was a dance - a dance with the Emperor's nephew and heir, Berkut. With the threat of a new war looming and the dangers of assassination and political subterfuge ever present in the Rigelian Court, how did the relationship between two young lovers flourish, and how did it come to its unfortunate end?





	1. Chapter One

Rinea awoke in a bed that was not hers. Before the blur covering her tired eyes had faded, she already knew that something was different. The air was cold and dry with a resonating silence – a completely foreign setting to her own bedroom. Home had an everlasting breeze flowing in from large open windows accompanied by the pleasant sounds of birds and insects and all the floral scents of spring. Here though – wherever here was – there was naught but the echo of her breath condensing in the frigid atmosphere.

Sitting up, she found her sight return, but no memory of the circular chamber and its dark wood furnishings adorned with black and gold tapestries. Another foreign sensation quickly surfaced as well: her clothing. The smooth silk nightgown did little to protect her from the low temperature and as such goosebumps appeared upon her pale arms as she stood and walked over to where light was flowing into the room from a window. Thick frost had coated the glass and made it impossible to even glimpse the outside. Her stomach began to ache in panic as she failed to recover even the faintest idea of where she was and how she had gotten here. Barefoot, the chilling wooden floor attacked her feet and prompted her to move on, which is what she did until she halted within catching sight of one familiar thing.

Her ball gown was hung on the wardrobe, glimmering a bright blue in the white light and affixed in position waiting for its wearer to return.

She strode over to it quickly and grasped it to make sure that it was real. The familiar fabric brought a comfort upon her as she held it close, delicate fingers gliding over the delicate dress with all its silver frills and smooth blue adornments. 'That was right. The ball.' Memories began to surface slowly. Last night she was in attendance of Emperor Rudolf’s Grand Ball. There was music and laughter and dancing, and perhaps a little too much wine as well, it became evident. She racked her brain as she dressed, hoping that wearing what she had the night before would spur some memory of how she ended up in this bedroom. Fragments of conversations returned to her, and faces too… then suddenly one voice was louder than them all.

“May I have this dance?”

It was with the young Lord that she had spent the end of her night, now she remembered. They had danced away from the rest of the party, danced until a servant arrived to inform them that every other attendee had left. But after that? She was so tired, maybe it was then that she fell asleep, when it was just the two of them lay on the dark ballroom’s floor.

She realised she had stopped dressing while lost in thought and quickly finished. Pushing open the door to the hall she endeavoured not to make a single sound, so not to intrude in any way upon the Emperor’s privacy. Everything was suddenly much scarier now that she knew where she was. No class or code had ever prepared her for this scenario. After descending two more flights of spiralling stairs, traversing three hallways and one large room - all without sight of a single soul - she eventually found her way to the main body of the castle. Rinea came to the balcony and placed a hand on the smooth marble. The drop was high, but she did not notice, as her eyes were stuck gazing upwards.

A gargantuan and marvellous tapestry adorned the ceiling of the citadel. She followed it from left to right, from noble dragon and archangel company to mortal warriors and their weapons of destruction. The dragon was an interpretation of Duma, clearly, and the men on the right hand side, spearing down enemies and slewing hordes of animals were the ancient Rigelians born of Duma’s own hand. But even that was merely just the basic imagery and symbolism. She could have spent hours, days even, admiring the vast artwork and all its small, charming details. The wingless angel, proudly marching alongside its god, the wounded soldier, leaning on the shaft of a spear plunged into his downed enemy. She gazed even as she descended, gazed until she would have had to walk backwards and gaze, into the entrance hall where it was impossible to gaze any longer.

There was finally another human, stood by the grand oak doors, watching Rinea approach with what she perceived to be a hint of scorn.

“My lady.”

“Good day, sir.” She replied, curtseying.

The man, who was barely taller than her, took no interest in beating around the bush.

“My master bid me to thank you for last night’s - activities - and he wishes you a safe journey home.” His voice was high and weasel-like, yet affluent still. A thin black moustache was present on his small face and beady black eyes watched Rinea as he continued. “A chariot awaits just across the drawbridge, my lady.”

Rinea’s face dropped. Was that going to be it? Was she going to be carted away just like that? After… after the dances she had shared with the Lord only the night prior? He would see her off with no farewell?

“Well, you see, sir,” she started, trying not to sound upset, “I had wished to thank the master myself for being so kind as to allow me to stay the night, might you know where I could find him?”

The butler blinked rapidly as if she had caused offence and stuttered as he responded. “Y-yes my lady! My master in truth said as much, should you wish to see him before you depart, that he could be found in the library just down the hall.” Before it was as though he didn’t want to talk, now though words poured out of his mouth like a stream. “Directly opposite us here in fact, through the large doors below the staircase you must have descended earlier.”

*

Rinea found the doors to the library to be as heavy as they appeared, yet she still managed to heave them open unassisted. She was met by a phalanx of bookshelves, all soaring high and reaching deep and far to the back end of the room, which was not visible from the entrance. Fortunately, she didn't have to wander far in search of the crown prince, as Berkut was sat in front of the fireplace near the entrance. She moved further into the room hesitantly, watching him in his silent reading. She didn’t want to startle him, and fortunately for her he noticed her presence.

“You came?” He said as he rose, sounding half-surprised.

“Is it uncommon for your guests to thank their host?” Rinea posed, quite confused with his reaction to seeing her.

“It is for my female guests.” Berkut admitted. “They would rather slip away in a chariot at dawn, wishing to be unseen and unjudged.”

“So you receive female guests often?”

“Not often. And rarely for the reasons people think. For the reasons you're thinking now.” He said, and his gaze cut through her.

Rinea stuttered. “I- I was thinking no such things!”

“But of course.” Berkut smiled slyly. “My apologies for insinuating you were.”

“Besides, the purpose of my presence is to thank you for… for hosting me last night and this morning.”

“And nothing else?” There was a slight, expectant raise of his brow.

“For dancing with me last night, too. I haven't- I haven't ever danced with a man before, not like that.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

Rinea found no words and made eye contact with the wooden floor. The two were still just standing apart, Berkut in front of the fire and Rinea by the door, neither of them making any movement or sound.

“I best be going. Thank you again, Lord Berkut.”

She swiftly turned and exited the library, into the hall again where she glimpsed up at the grand tapestry before it was out of sight again, and would have continued quickly outside, had she not paused upon hearing her name called out.

“Rinea.”

She swivelled and found Berkut stood in front of the doors to the library.

“Will I see you again?”

Surprise shone through Rinea’s face, though she had the tact to hide it with a smile as soon as she realised.

“I would like that.”

Her answer satisfied Berkut, inviting a soft smile upon his handsome face.

“Until the next time, then.”

“Until the next time, farewell, Lord Berkut.”

He followed her no more. There were no echoing footsteps other than her own. She made her way to the entrance of Rigel Castle and found a chariot prepared to take her back to her home outside, just as promised. As the driver cracked his whip and the white stallions set off, Rinea turned back to watch the grey spires and the grey walls of the citadel until they crept out of sight over the horizon.


	2. Chapter Two

Berkut spent the next three days contemplating how best to contact Rinea. Very few times before this had he ever contacted someone recreationally, no less a girl. His busy schedule as a newly-appointed general had allowed him to procrastinate making a decision, very much to the dismay of the eager castle attendants and advisors. Unbeknownst to Berkut, he held the silent support of every soul who had heard the whispers of his dance with the lovely Rinea, though he himself had told only a select few. Everyone he spoke with seemed to have a different idea of what he should do, which certainly did little to aid in his decision-making. His old nan Agatha had chosen the best course of action for him to be a grand parade marching all the way across Rigel, proclaiming his abundant love for Rinea and staging plays with performers acting out fantastical scenes from what would be their marvellous future together. One servant suggested a private holiday on a faraway and sunny isle, but did not offer any hint on how to get Rinea, who was little more than a stranger to him at present, to board a boat with him (and only him), and sail away to Gods know where for a week. Berkut seemed to be affected by these wild ideas, as he had begun sprouting his own little nonsenses in the company of saner minds, which granted him very peculiar looks. He had just considered riding straight to Rinea’s manor with full royal escort, which Mueller met with blunt rebuttal.

“Do you want to scare her off for good?” The taller man finished pouring his drink from the decanter and took a sip as Berkut seemed to realise what he had actually said.

“You’re right.” He agreed. “I suppose I’ve become a little desperate…”

It was hard to admit, but it was the truth. Though his thoughts were clouded with only the potential things he could do, his thoughts were still clouded, and he had been irresponsibly distracted from his duties even though he had not actually done anything other than asked to by Emperor Rudolf.

It was in fact by the Emperor’s request that Berkut and Mueller had found themselves in the war room, awaiting his excellency's instruction for a yet unknown mission. Berkut had been made a general only now that Rigel was at a time of peace. Though it was true that he had turned sixteen not long before the war’s end, he was all but aware of his uncle’s decision to neglect his request to be allowed to fight until he wouldn't actually have anyone to fight. This had annoyed Berkut, but at least now he was being given opportunities to prove his worth on diplomatic missions. Mueller had been an excellent commander in the war, and following the untimely demise of Rigels’ previous General of Defence, Mueller was appointed the role. He was around twenty-six years, Berkut reckonned. His long face had evidently experienced battle, with his dark under-eye circles and less-than-perfect complexion, but his blond goatee seemed to Berkut a hasty attempt at earning the respect of soldiers he was likely younger than, by masking his own youth. Berkut poured his own drink and listened as his peer began to speak.

“Haven’t you just considered writing her a letter?”

“A... love letter?” Berkut nearly spat.

“No, just a normal, old-fashioned, letter.”

Mueller’s tone was dry no matter what he said, Berkut now confirmed in his head. But that didn’t make him wrong. A letter may be the answer he was looking for. Nevertheless, his thoughts were interrupted with the arrival of Emperor Rudolf in the room, accompanied by Massena. Berkut and Mueller bowed in unison and gave a simultaneous: “Your excellency.”

“Rise.” Rudolf moved past the both of them to the head of the table where he glanced at the map of Valentia. Massena remained by the door, one arm folded and one hand on his chin, as was his usual stance. Rudolf met eyes with Berkut, shifted to Mueller, then let his gaze fall once more upon his nephew as he began his speech.

“Zofia is paying Rigel a hefty compensation for the war. It is my hope that this will replenish the Rigelian people and restore their trust in the Empire.”

Rudolf had spoken clearly and seriously, but there was one unspoken thing that every person in the room also understood. With the outbreak of another war, people had begun turning to the Duma Faithful in favour of the Emperor. In times past, the Faithful and the Emperor would rule in cooperation, but the usurping of High Priest Halcyon by the nefarious Jedah had led the cult - that is what it should be called - to extremism. Previously taboo magic was made wide-spread and available, which led the truly faithful to submit their humanity to Duma’s maddening will. Whenever a younger Berkut had seen Jedah in the castle with his purple skin, pitch eyes and bleached hair, he would have had nightmares the whole week after. But appearance was not the most callous thing associated with the Faithful. There was a disturbing rise in the conversion of young women into witches - mindless pawns of Duma with frightening magic and teleportation abilities. The popular saying was ‘watch your back, and ten paces on top of that’, because there had been countless reports of missing people, victims of ambush, and frequent, disturbing oddities all over Rigel in recent years. In any case, anyone in the army was aware that the Faithful were nothing more than dangerous heretics, but with the recent enemy being Zofia, challenging them had been postponed.

Rudolf continued. “The most heavily affected lands were those near the border where our troops would restock. In good gesture, I would like to grant them the first sum of our new supplies, and I would like you two to deliver those supplies personally.”

“It would be an honour, your excellency.” Berkut answered for the both of them.

“Magnus and Xaixor will be dispatched to the east, so you will be sent directly south to the villages and towns surrounding Blackmire Forest. Take ten of your best men. You will not need so many that it will be difficult for any of your hosts to feed, but I am well aware of the fact that we are in the process of reverting back to peace…” Berkut felt the next statement directed at him. “People are hungry as well as anxious, and you may be a target. That is all.”

“I will see to travel arrangements immediately, your excellency.” Mueller bowed and turned to leave, but halted upon seeing that Berkut had remained standing still, staring at his uncle.

“Is something amiss, Berkut?” Rudolf asked him upon noticing.

“Uncle, I-” He cut himself off, and changed what he was about to say. “I thank you for this opportunity to show that I’m a worthy heir, I will not disappoint you.”

“I should hope not, after all, if everything goes smoothly, the most dangerous thing would be an encounter with a stray bear.” He paused. Berkut wouldn’t know it, but just letting the boy go now was a terrifying ordeal for him. His own brother had died too young, and his sister-in-law followed too soon after. Berkut was the child he had never gotten to raise, and in truth, he was a large comfort for the Emperor. But neither Berkut or anyone else could know that in full, lest his already failing reputation be ruined further by simple human emotion, so adopting only a slimmer of a smile, he continued, warmer. “I want the Rigelian people to see you as the one giving them not only supplies again, but also hope. If you deliver yourself to Blackmire safely, and do as I have asked, then you will have succeeded. Linger no more on the matter.”

Satisfied, Berkut bowed and departed with Mueller, leaving Rudolf and Massena alone. Rudolf had seated himself, and Massena moved next to his emperor to speak in a hushed tone.

“The one giving them hope? Rudolf, this is too cruel. The higher you set up this boy to be, the further he will have to fall.”

“I know that, Massena.” Rudolf sighed and leaned his head on his fist. “But he is my nephew still - He is like my son! How can I not give him what he desires? The boy has had everything taken from him, and he pushes himself beyond any other noble or soldier I have ever known. He has dedicated his life to being me, and I have not the heart to tell him he cannot.”

“Then let us both hope you have the heart when the time comes.”

“If my plan unfolds accordingly, I will not have to tell him.”

Massena furrowed his brow, even though he was no longer looking at Rudolf. He was gazing out of the window at the gathering rain droplets on the glass. Rudolf had placed himself into an immensely difficult situation, but it was one necessary for the very survival of Valentia. Who would survive to see his efforts come to fruition though, remained up in the air.

*

Dear Rinea,  
On official business I will be passing through your neighbouring town in two nights time. I recall you wishing to see me again, and I believe you should recall me reciprocating your feelings also. I propose that we meet in the evening by the fountain in the centre of town to spend some time together. Should you receive this letter in apt time, you may respond by instructing your courier to journey up the Imperial Route, where he should easily find my travelling company, some distance before reaching the Last Bastion. If you cannot make it to the fountain, then I do hope we can make some alternative arrangements sometime, though I will be occupied in southern Rigel for some time, following my departure from your town. I do hope we can meet, and I wish you all the best.

Yours Sincerely,

Heir to the Imperial Throne, General of the Rigelian Army and first of his name,  
Prince Berkut.


End file.
